


your mouth, your voice, your hair

by Siria



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Episode Tag, Episode: s05e02 The Seed, F/F, POV Character of Color, POV Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-17
Updated: 2009-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-04 12:19:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the time, Teyla had felt calm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your mouth, your voice, your hair

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Cate and Trin for cheerleading! Some lines taken/reworked from the episode.

At the time, Teyla had felt calm. She had felt the loss severely later, when the shock set in—her pulse had raced; she had been unable to sit still; Ronon had wrapped her hands around the cup of stout tea he'd brewed for her—but at first, standing in Kate's bedroom and looking down at her body, Teyla had felt so very, very calm. She'd fought in battles and waged war, lost half her family and several homes, but Kate had looked as if she were sleeping. This was no loss by the rules of war, however arbitrary those rules may have been at times; there was something so mundane about not seeing Kate at her usual time and feeling as if she should check in on her, so strange about pressing her fingertips to Kate's wrist and finding the skin there cold.

"She did not report for duty and I cannot wake her up," Teyla had said, clinging to what facts she felt herself still able to process.

"She's dead," Jennifer had said gently; had later whispered, "I'm so sorry," her hand gentle at Teyla's elbow.

Teyla thought she had replied, "Thank you", unable to look away from Kate's still form. She had been vaguely aware that this numb sensation was only the first part of grief; a year later, and her memory of that morning had resolved itself into little more than this: thinking, _this cannot happen again_.

***

John had a saying which Rodney liked to mock: _lightning never strikes twice._

"Statistically improbable, I'll grant you," Rodney said, "but an absolute impossibility? Given this galaxy and the past four years, I'm not inclined to take those odds."

They were words which Teyla had heard frequently, in one form or another, in the year since Kate's death. They repeated themselves now, over and over, in Teyla's head as she sat in the mess hall and waited for Jennifer to join her for breakfast. Jennifer's schedule was frequently thrown off by the demands of her job, but she always tried to let people know if she would be less than punctual. Teyla's oatmeal congealed in its bowl and the room emptied out and Teyla tried to tell herself that perhaps Jennifer had simply overslept. After the events of the past few weeks, there were few members of the senior staff who were not sleep-deprived; though Kanaan provided a great deal of help despite their parting, and though Torren's honorary uncles fussed over him more than many grandparents would, as a new mother Teyla knew that feeling perhaps better than most. This was Jennifer's morning off; the most logical conclusion was that she had slept through her alarm, and it would be selfish of Teyla to waken her.

Yet logic could not entirely defeat Teyla's unease. Her skin itched with the remembered adrenaline of a year before, and when Marie radioed her and asked her if she'd seen Dr Keller anywhere, Teyla paused only to pick up a tablet computer from a nearby workstation before leaving the gate room and heading towards Jennifer's quarters. It had taken her far too long to break into Kate's room armed only with her own imperfect knowledge of Ancient technology—she would need both the tablet and extra assistance. She called Rodney while on the way, trying not to let the urgency she felt overwhelm her. The closer she got to Jennifer's quarters, the more overpowering the feeling became; by the time Rodney and Carson joined her, Teyla could feel the hairs standing up on the nape of her neck.

"It's Doctor Keller. She was supposed to join me for breakfast this morning but did not show up," she told them. She tried valiantly to push the thoughts of pulling the coverlet up over Kate's face out of her mind.

"Well?" Rodney huffed. "So maybe she's sleeping in."

Teyla tried not to grind her teeth—did Rodney really think she would not have thought of so simple an explanation?—and handed over the tablet. It did not take Rodney long to force the door open, though for Teyla it felt like an age. Inside, Jennifer's bedroom was dim and cool and too quiet, sea-salt air flooding in through a window left slightly ajar, and for a moment the sense of disorientation, of something _wrong_, was overwhelming. Yet Teyla could see the slight movement of the bedcovers which meant that Jennifer was still breathing—perhaps they were not too late. "Jennifer, are you all right? Jennifer?"

"She must be unconscious," Carson said, hurrying over to kneel beside the bed and check Jennifer's pupils. Jennifer gave no outward sign of response to their presence, but there was something—something that triggered senses of Teyla's that she normally tried to keep tamped down, to keep separate from the clean sensations of sight and smell, taste and touch and sound—and she felt her stomach turn over.

"Carson, step away from the bed," she said, as evenly as she could.

"What?"

"Step away _now_," Teyla said, and ignored Rodney's questions and Carson's exclamations in favour of reaching out and peeling away the bed covers from Jennifer's still form. The colour of the tendrils was the most noticeable thing in the dim room: a bright, living red that sprawled across Jennifer's belly and across the bed. They stank, too, with a musky copper stench that made Teyla's pulse race and bile rise in her throat—it was the smell of the Wraith.

***

As the infection grew, a creeping growth that insinuated itself into the city, so too did Teyla's awareness of the intelligence that had taken over Jennifer's body. The new hive ship was focused and driven and nowhere near as alien to Teyla as it should have been—perhaps, after so long spent as a hostage of Michael's, after so many occasions when Teyla had had to purposefully join her mind to that of a hive collective, there was no easy way for Teyla to close herself off to such things anymore. Perhaps such a separation had only ever been an illusion—there was so much that she still did not know about the implications of the twists she had inherited in the coils of her DNA.

Even while trying to focus her attention on what Woolsey was saying or Rodney planning, Teyla could feel the insinuation of the hive into the city—thickening tendrils straining at metal girders and stone floors; a consciousness that was shaping a voice for itself—and caught up in all that, Jennifer's own voice, weakening and scared. It was distracting, not just because of the constant awareness of Jennifer's pain, but because of a strange feeling that Teyla could quantify only as jealousy: Atlantis was her city, made so by choice and by family and by the spilling of blood, and something in Teyla was stirred at the thought of a hive-not-her-own endangering that.

That something spurred her on as she clambered through access conduits with Radek, when she fired her weapon and hauled Radek to safety and told the others with as much politeness as she could muster just how misguided their plans were.

"We have the drug, love," Carson told her. "It's just a simple injection, and either the Colonel or Ronon are the best choice to deliver it. They've been infected, and it's possible that someone who has carried the pathogen will be more likely to get through."

Teyla arched an eyebrow at him. "Colonel Sheppard is not yet fully recovered from the injuries he sustained when aiding in my rescue. Ronon is still infected by a pathogen which can impair his judgement. It makes more sense that I go."

"I can do it," Ronon said simply.

"I do not doubt you," Teyla answered him. "But the fact remains that you are unwell, however you feel at the moment. I am uninfected, but I am still part Wraith. In this instance, that conveys me with a certain… advantage. I am confident that I can get to Dr Keller and deliver the medication without attracting undue suspicion."

"It's taken over five floors, Ms Emmagan," Woolsey pointed out. He held his arms very stiffly by his side. "Mr Dex might be able to fight his way through, but—"

Teyla favoured him with a smile whose edge had been honed by two decades of learning the art of diplomacy. "I know my own way," she said, simply but with enough finality in her voice to make Woolsey nod. He let her go.

***

Ronon accompanied her to the transporter, armed with blaster and sword and an extra sidearm in a holster on his thigh. Teyla carried only her _bantos_ rods, strapped to her back. "Have my comm," he told her. "You need me, I'll come in."

"I will be well," Teyla told him, resting a hand on his forearm for a moment before stepping into the transporter. She keyed in the location of the nearest transporter to the isolation room, and when the doors opened, the smell was overwhelming. It was only the lack of humidity and the still-solid floors beneath her feet which reminded Teyla that she was not on a hive ship—the coppery smell was so strong that it was as if Teyla's mouth was filled with blood. The humming, buzzing consciousness of the entity growing around her was a whisper at the edge of her hearing; not yet as powerful as a full-grown ship, but still enough for her to know where Jennifer lay without having to consciously guide her steps.

"How does it look?" Woolsey asked her, voice tinny over the comm.

"It is growing strongly," Teyla said. Tendrils were pushing their way down the corridors in all directions, up the walls and along the floor and around light fixtures, tendrils that Teyla knew would soon be solid muscle and veins and nerves. "It has almost entirely taken over this level."

"Is it reacting to your presence in any way?"

"No," Teyla said, although that was not quite true. The tendrils had made no move to attack her, but she knew they were aware of her—waiting for direction. That was almost worse.

They shifted around her as she walked: making room for her as she headed towards Jennifer, closing back around her as she passed. Teyla was uncomfortably aware of the fact that she was cocooned, the more so once she finally made it into the isolation room where Jennifer lay. It was warmer in here than it was in the surrounding corridors, much more so, and almost at once Teyla felt herself break out in a sweat. She walked forward carefully to where Jennifer lay, seemingly unaware of her presence—her eyes were closed, her face flushed and marked with angry red veins.

Teyla took a steadying breath and quietly slipped the hypodermic needle out of her pocket. "Jennifer? Can you hear me?"

"I hear you, Teyla, but I am not Jennifer anymore." Teyla tried not to flinch at the timbre of Jennifer's voice, which was deeper and colder than it should have been, resonating at some level of Teyla's awareness that meant _Wraith_.

"Who am I speaking with?"

"I have no designation yet. I will be given one when I am complete."

"When you are complete?" Teyla had no desire to learn the details of what the pathogen was doing to Jennifer's body, but perhaps engaging the entity in conversation would distract it for long enough to allow Teyla to inject her.

"I will be as I was meant to be," the ship said, Jennifer's voice echoing with satisfaction. "I will call a Queen to me and I will—"

Teyla closed her eyes and injected the contents of the syringe into Jennifer's neck.

For a moment, there was nothing and Teyla thought that it had had no effect—but then Jennifer's eyes snapped open and she stared up at the ceiling, a look of anguish on her face that was mirrored by the screaming that Teyla could hear only inside her head. The scream seemed to go on forever, high and keening; Jennifer's neck arched, the tendons in it standing out taut, while the tendrils that filled the room spasmed and contracted. It hurt—the newborn ship was dying, every inch of Jennifer's body was in agony, and Teyla could feel their twinned pain—and it _hurt_, doubling her over with the force of it, and then it was over.

In the space between one heartbeat and the next, the thing died. The tendrils slumped to the floor, limp with no controlling intelligence behind them, and the next breath that Jennifer took was her own. The sudden absence in Teyla's head was almost overwhelming, and at first she didn't hear Woolsey's frantic hails over the comm.

"Can you hear me? What is your status?"

"We are—" Teyla deliberately stood and straightened her spine. "I believe you can send in a medical team now. Urgently."

Ronon, John and Rodney arrived before the medical team did, Ronon pushing his way through the dense growth of tendrils faster than Teyla would have thought possible. Still, there were long moments of waiting before even they got there, and Teyla sat down heavily beside Jennifer, pushing strands of sweat-damp hair away from her forehead and keeping count of each laboured, faltering inhale. She willed Jennifer to keep breathing, to keep holding on.

***

The tendrils atrophied quickly, deprived of nutrition and guidance, but Carson still had to operate to sever the link between their main mass and Jennifer's body. The ship-seed had been connected to her circulatory system at several key points, and the operation was a delicate one, taking several hours. Teyla kept watch throughout it all from the observation gallery, taking a little pleasure from each tendril that was cut away and placed in a specimen dish.

John joined her at one point, bringing her a cup of vegetable soup from the mess that Teyla sipped at absentmindedly—more from the dim awareness that she must be in need of food than because she actually felt hungry. "How you doing?" he asked her, with all the shy, awkward care of which he was capable.

"I have been better," Teyla acknowledged. She felt exhausted, and the urge to go back to her quarters, to lie down on soft blankets with Torren beside her in his crib and to sleep for many hours, was almost overwhelming. "But we will all be well, with a few days' rest. There was no lasting harm."

John snorted. "You didn't hear McKay complain when it was his turn for the antidote. You'd swear the nurse was trying to inject him with liquid citrus. Ronon practically had to sit on him to hold him down."

"Do not give him any further inspiration for complaints," Teyla said, forcing a smile as she set the half-empty cup of soup down on a nearby table.

John was silent for a moment, teeth worrying at his lower lip, before he said, deliberately casual, "You know, if you want to go lie down for a bit, I can take over here. All I have to do is paperwork right now, and you know what I think about paperwork."

"Thank you, John," Teyla said, "but I believe I will stay to the end. I do not think it can be much longer."

It wasn't. Most of the core of the ship-seed came away in one solid mass, and Carson and one of the trauma surgeons worked to close up Jennifer's belly with neat, even stitches. She would have a nasty scar across her abdomen, Teyla thought, but with luck there would be nothing worse than that. Carson turned and gave them both a thumbs up when the nurses finally wheeled Jennifer out into the recovery room. Teyla nodded at him, and let herself leave the observation gallery, heading back towards the residential area of the city with John at her side. There was little she could do now beyond check in on her son, as it was Kanaan's day to be with him, before returning to her own rooms and catching up on long-postponed sleep.

"It was an easy operation," John said to her when they parted at the intersection of two corridors. "She'll be up and about soon enough, you'll see."

"Yes," Teyla said. "I know." And she did—there was no trace of the ship's consciousness left anywhere in the city, and all of the surgeons had been confident that though the major part of the operation would be its length, not its danger to Jennifer.

"So, you know." John bumped his arm against hers. "Buck up. Everything'll be back to normal in the morning."

For just a moment, Teyla felt wildly, irrationally angry. "No, John," she said, words clipped with an anger she was barely holding back, "No. They won't be. How many hive ships have we destroyed over the past four years? How many of those ships were once people like Jennifer? We are responsible for so much more than we ever _think_—"

"Hey now," John said, holding his hands up a little in mock surrender. "Don't be like that, Te—"

"Good night, John," Teyla said, and left him standing there.

***

Teyla slept badly that night. Her dreams were copper-rich and she was hungry, taller, the palms of her hands scarred and her hair snow-white and falling in a straight line to her waist. There were others there too, dead and living, and Jennifer—her veins pulsing with sap, her skin clothed in a tracery of vine leaves, her mouth speaking with a voice that was not her own—Jennifer saying to her, _we will be what we were meant to be._

Teyla woke with a start just before dawn, a cry caught in her throat. The sheets were tangled and damp around her legs, and she was breathing as hard as if she had just run up the side of Mount Isuq. She instantly looked for Torren, but he was sleeping soundly in his crib, undisturbed by the ill dreams that had woken his mother. That, at least, was a blessing. Teyla rearranged the covers over him, before pouring herself a glass of water from the pitcher by her bed. Thirst quenched, she pressed the cool glass to her cheeks, her forehead, and hoped that what she had dreamt had been a simple night terror, with no hint of prophecy to it. This was always the worst part of it, when these dreams came—the lingering fear that there was something at the core of her that could betray who Teyla thought she was; the guilt that came from knowing that perhaps one day her son would fear that same part of himself.

As the sun was coming up over the horizon, she thought about crawling back under the bed covers, but Torren chose that moment to decide that he needed a change of diaper, and to tell her so with an outraged wail. Teyla sighed, and laughed a little at the maudlin bent of her thoughts, and went to pick Torren up. _Everything'll be back to normal in the morning_, John had said, and in a sense he had been correct—in the light of a new day, possible fears had to be put aside in favour of the present. She placed Torren down on the changing mat, and undid the string that cinched his diaper around his waist. Torren wrinkled his nose and cooed, and Teyla sighed—sometimes the reality of the present could be just as unpleasant as the possible.

***

She went to visit Jennifer after that morning's senior staff meeting. Mr Woolsey had been officious and Rodney outraged, which Teyla supposed meant that things were once more as they should be. The quiet of the infirmary was a welcome change from the competing voices of the conference room—the loudest noises were Marie's footsteps as she led Teyla over to Jennifer's bed, the low beeps of the machines as Marie checked on Jennifer's IVs.

"Dr. Porter gave her something for the pain," Marie said softly, "It makes her groggy, but that's good—she'll need a lot of sleep as she heals."

Teyla nodded at her, and stayed by Jennifer's bedside when Marie went back into the nurse's station. She had brought nothing with her—Rodney and John had given her cut flowers frequently enough when Teyla herself had been in the infirmary that she had realised flowers had some symbolism for the ill in Earth cultures—but she hoped that her presence would provide some quiet reassurance to Jennifer. Perhaps also that it would provide some reassurance to herself—she had been conscious, all morning, that Jennifer was lying ill not so far away, with a too-sharp awareness that must have been the lingering after-effect of the ship-seed.

Teyla pulled a chair close, sat down and took Jennifer's hand. Jennifer's palm was cool and smooth against her own, and it was surprising how something so simple as touch could bring so much calm. She closed her eyes and tried to meditate; to send some measure of comfort to Jennifer, no matter how imperfect the means.

***

Jennifer was released from the infirmary after several days with admonitions from Marie and Dr Singh to rest and relax which left her flushed and insisting that she knew what to do, she'd be fine. Ronon wheeled Jennifer back to her quarters, Rodney set up a home entertainment system for her at what he insisted was the ideal distance from the bed for someone of Jennifer's height, and Teyla was surprised to find that that sensitivity to Jennifer's presence she'd first sensed all those days ago hadn't faded.

If anything, it had settled into a constant—an awareness at the back of her mind, a hum at the base of her skull when she was in the same room as Jennifer. It was unsettling—too close to what Teyla felt when a Wraith was near for her to be comfortable with it, causing too much heat to pool low in her belly for her to know how to raise it with Jennifer, not when Teyla was unsure as to whether Jennifer felt it too. Sometimes, when Teyla brought Jennifer her evening meal, or when she and Dusty Mehra and Laura Cadman decided to hold their weekly poker game in Jennifer's quarters rather than in the mess hall, Teyla thought that she felt Jennifer's gaze on her just a little too often, lingering a little too long, but to know that Jennifer was aware of her was one thing—to know the intent that lay behind that awareness was another.

***

Dr Porter cleared Jennifer to return to duty quite quickly. Once Jennifer was back in her lab, Teyla didn't see her so much—understandable, given that Teyla had her own responsibilities to her son and her team, to the Athosians and her trainees and the missions she went on. There was work that was important for her to do, to focus on, no matter much she might be aware, sitting in on a negotiation between Mr Woolsey and the T'dop, that Jennifer was two floors below her and talking with Ronon.

Still, she found that she was unsurprised when one afternoon, two weeks or so after Rodney and John had finally stopped making tentacle jokes at the dinner table, Jennifer came to find her in the gym. Teyla had been working through some of the more difficult forms of _bantos_, but she stood upright and put her rods down on the windowsill. "Jennifer?"

"Hi, Teyla." It must have been one of Jennifer's days off—she was wearing jeans and a cotton t-shirt that looked soft to the touch, and her hair hung loose to her shoulders. She seemed nervous—she was biting at her lower lip, and she worried a scrap of paper between her fingers; it looked as though it had been folded and unfolded several times. "Do you have a minute?"

"Of course," Teyla said, and gestured for them both to sit on the low seat that ran underneath the window. Teyla tucked her legs beneath her and leaned against the sun-warmed glass. Jennifer more than seemed nervous—when this close to her, Teyla was forced to admit that she could sense Jennifer's low-grade fear, had to fight to stop the long muscles of her legs from tightening up in anticipation of flight. "Is there something wrong?"

"Well, I realised I never thanked you for what you did," Jennifer said. She did not quite meet Teyla's gaze. "You went in there and you saved me. If it wasn't for you, I'd be—well, I'd be Tentacle Girl right now!" She forced a small laugh, but the desperate attempt at humour made Teyla flinch.

"I did only what was right," Teyla said. "Anyone else in my position would have done the same."

"Yeah, but see…" Jennifer unfolded the piece of paper and thrust it at Teyla. It was a printout of test results, that much Teyla could follow, but the figures and percentages listed in neat columns made little sense to her.

"I'm afraid I do not follow," she said, handing the paper back to Jennifer.

"I ran the tests," Jennifer said, stumbling over her words. "Multiple times, and all the blood work confirms it. I think I have—I think the pathogen, it did the same thing to me that you have. I think I have that, that Wraith sensing thing." She looked up at Teyla; the afternoon light that was flooding in through the stained glass windows turned her to amber and gold. "Not that there are any Wraith around, but I know where you are, sometimes, I know what you're feeling, and I ran the tests to check. It's—"

"It feels strange," Teyla said, trying to choose her words with care. "It was difficult for me to adjust, when Carson first told me the truth of my origins. My people had called it a gift, and a change in perspective made me think… It was difficult." She smiled at Jennifer; resisted the urge to reach out and take her hand. "If you wish to weaken the strength of the connection you feel, I have found that spending time apart can help. Some weeks of minimal contact, and it should diminish to a more manageable level."

"But I don't want—" Jennifer closed her eyes and took a visibly deep breath and then blurted out, "I really want to touch you. Can I—"

Teyla shivered, because Jennifer had felt it too, and she didn't want to turn away from it. "Yes", Teyla said and leaned forward, slowly and carefully. The space between them hummed, electric and wanting, and Teyla felt hot all over from more than just exercise. The kiss was lush and heavy-lidded, Jennifer's hand coming up to tangle in the hair at the nape of Teyla's neck while her mouth opened to Teyla's tongue. Jennifer's cheek was soft against the palm of Teyla's hand and Teyla bit gently at the sweet curve of Jennifer's lower lip, licked soothingly at the corner of Jennifer's smile. When the kiss finally came to an end, Jennifer rested her forehead against Teyla's, eyes closed; her hair fell around them both, sheltering them, and though Teyla knew that anyone could walk in on them at any time, she felt no inclination to move. This was too pleasant; this was too longed-for.

"That was nice," Jennifer said shyly, and Teyla had never realised that this sixth sense of hers could convey more than the merely physical or an acknowledgement of pain—she knew with the same certainty that she knew her own breath that Jennifer was happy, that her desire was a twin of Teyla's own.

"Mm," Teyla hummed, and pressed closer, kissing her again. The kiss was hotter this time—with a hint of urgency to it that was sparked by the press of Jennifer's breasts against hers; by the way Jennifer's fingers were tracing tentative patterns against the sweat-damp skin of Teyla's bare back; by the low moan that escaped Jennifer's throat when Teyla thought at her, with great deliberation, exactly what she wanted to do.

"Please," Jennifer whispered against Teyla's mouth, her fingers twitching against Teyla's skin. Teyla smiled, moved to press kisses to the line of Jennifer's neck, and pressed her own legs tight together, nursing the pleasant ache that was growing between them.

"Perhaps," she said between kisses, letting her smile turn into a grin, "somewhere more private?"

"That—" Jennifer said, "yes, _yes_," and she only just remembered to pick up the piece of paper with her test results before they left the gym.

***

Jennifer stayed that evening, and that night, curved around Teyla underneath the warmth of knitted blankets. Once, near midnight, Teyla woke briefly—but whatever dreamt fear had disturbed her sleep dissipated at the sight of Jennifer's chest rising and falling steadily with easy breath. It had not happened again; it would not.

When Teyla next woke it was at dawn to the sight of Jennifer trying to wriggle her way out from beneath the blankets while tugging back on her rumpled clothes—all, it seemed, to be attempted without exposing an inch of naked skin. It was amusing to Teyla, if not quite comprehensible, and she sat up and pressed a kiss to the freckles of Jennifer's still-bare shoulder blade. "I do not mind," she told her.

Jennifer flushed and tucked her hair behind her ear. "Oh, I know," she said. "You made it quite clear that you're really… pro-naked, but I'm from Wisconsin and we tend to frown even more heavily on people who do the walk of shame without a bra on."

Teyla felt both her eyebrows shoot up, but before she could say anything Jennifer's jaw dropped and she blurted out, "Not that _I'm_—no, I'm really, really not, it's just a saying they have back in the States for the morning after… stuff."

"Stuff," Teyla said, pronouncing the word carefully.

"Stuff," Jennifer repeated. The tips of her ears were bright red. "Of the bendy, naked—and you're really hot and I can't stop talking, so I am going to go get ready for my shift and if you want to pretend that this was just a—"

Teyla kissed her, feeling Jennifer's words buzz against her mouth for just a moment before she hushed. "I have a training session with some of the Marines this morning, and then Kanaan is returning Torren to me, but I could join you for lunch, if you would like?"

"I would like that," Jennifer said, "A lot."

She pulled on her jeans and helped Teyla to lace up the back of her training skirt. Last night, each touch of Jennifer's had made Teyla dizzy, breathless, impatient with the need to work herself against Jennifer's hand and breathe in the sharp tang of her sweat; the removal of resistance to the connection that had been tugging them ever closer for a month had blunted the keenest edge of that need, but the brush of Jennifer's knuckles against her belly still made Teyla feel that little more balanced—that more certain that she knew where she was standing.

"I was thinking," Jennifer said at the door, after one last chaste kiss, "that maybe I might start looking for a way to free those people from the ships? I've got Carson's work as a baseline, and the information we recovered from Michael's base."

Teyla did not have to ask who 'those people' were. "There may not be much of them left," she said gently. Teyla had been on many hive ships, and never once had she felt that beneath the slumbering intelligence around her lay even a hint of humanity.

"No," Jennifer said, mouth pinched; for a moment, she looked exhausted and far older than her years. "Trust me, they're there."

"Then I think such work is admirable," Teyla said, and leaned up to kiss Jennifer's cheek. "I shall see you later." The door slid closed behind Jennifer, and Teyla closed her eyes and breathed out, let the thread of that connection spool out between them, silver and unexpectedly shining—thought that maybe, just maybe, this sense of hers might be another way to find home.


End file.
